`What did you say his name is?'
`Nash. Norman Nash.'
She spelled it out. `N.A.S.H.? Like that?'
`Yes.'
The girl's eyes were puzzled. `I suppose you know what that means in Russian. Nash means ``ours''. In our Services, a man is nash when he is one of ``our'' men. He is svoi when he is one of ``theirs''–when he belongs to the enemy. And this man calls himself Nash. That is not pleasant.'
Bond laughed. `Really, Tania. You do think of extraordinary reasons for not liking people. Nash is quite a common English name. He's perfectly harmless. At any rate he's tough enough for what we want him for.'
Tatiana made a face. She went on with her lunch.
Some tagliatelli verdi came, and the wine, and then a delicious escalope. `Oh it is so good,' she said. `Since I came out of Russia I am all stomach.' Her eyes widened. `You won't let me get too fat, James. You won't let me get so fat that I am no use for making love? You will have to be careful, or I shall just eat all day long and sleep. You will beat me if I eat too much?'
`Certainly I will beat you.'
Tatiana wrinkled her nose. He felt the soft caress of her ankles. The wide eyes looked at him hard. The lashes came down demurely. `Please pay,' she said. `I feel sleepy.'
The train was pulling into Maestre. There was the beginning of the canals. A cargo gondola full of vegetables was moving slowly along a straight sheet of water into the town.
`But we shall be coming into Venice in a minute,' protested Bond. `Don't you want to see it?'
`It will be just another station. And I can see Venice another day. Now Iwant you to love me. Please, James.' Tatiana leaned forward. She put a hand over his. `Give me what I want. There is so little time.'
Then it was the little room again and the smell of the sea coming through the half-open window and the drawn blind fluttering with the wind of the train. Again there were the two piles of clothes on the floor, and the two whispering bodies on the banquette, and the slow searching hands. And the love-knot formed, and, as the train jolted over the points into the echoing | station of Venice, there came the final lost despairing cry.
Outside the vacuum of the tiny room there sounded a confusion of echoing calls and metallic clanging and shuffling footsteps that slowly faded into sleep.
Padua came, and Vicenza, and a fabulous sunset over Verona flickered gold and red through the cracks of the blind. Again the little bell came tinkling down the corridor. They woke. Bond dressed and went into the corridor and leant against the guard rail. He looked out at the fading pink light over the Lombardy Plain and thought of Tatiana and of the future.
Nash's face slid up alongside his in the dark glass. Nash came very close so that his elbow touched Bond's. `I think I've spotted one of the oppo, old man,' he said softly.
Bond was not surprised. He had assumed that, if it came, it would come tonight. Almost indifferently he said, `Who is he?'
`Don't know what his real name is, but he's been through Trieste once or twice. Something to do with Albania. May be the Resident Director there. Now he's on an American passport. ``Wilbur Frank.'' Calls himself a banker. In No. 9, right next to you. I don't think I could be wrong about him, old man.'
Bond glanced at the eyes in the big brown face. Again the furnace door was ajar. The red glare shone out and was extinguished.
`Good thing you spotted him. This may be a tough night. You'd better stick by us from now on. We mustn't leave the girl alone.'
`That's what I thought, old man.'
They had dinner. It was a silent meal. Nash sat beside the girl and kept his eyes on his plate. He held his knife like a fountain pen and frequently wiped it on his fork. He was clumsy in his movements. Half way through the meal, he reached for the salt and knocked over Tatiana's glass of Chianti. He apologized profusely. He made a great show of calling for another glass and filling it.
Coffee came. Now it was Tatiana who was clumsy. She knocked over her cup. She had gone very pale and her breath was coming quickly.
`Tatiana!' Bond half rose to his feet. But it was Captain Nash who jumped up and took charge.
`Lady's come over queer,' he said shortly. `Allow me.' He reached down and put an arm round the girl and lifted her to her feet. Til take her back to the compartment. You'd better look after the bag. And there's the bill. I can take care of her till you come.'
`Is all right,' protested Tatiana with the slack lips of deepening unconsciousness. `Don' worry, James, I lie down.' Her head lolled against Nash's shoulder. Nash put one thick arm round her waist and manoeuvred her quickly and efficiently down the crowded aisle and out of the restaurant car.
Bond impatiently snapped his fingers for the waiter. Poor darling. She must be dead beat. Why hadn't he thought of the strain she was going through? He cursed himself for his selfishness. Thank heavens for Nash. Efficient sort of chap, for all his uncouthness.
Bond paid the bill. He took up the heavy little bag and walked as quickly as he could down the crowded train.
He tapped softly on the door of No. 7. Nash opened the door. He came out with his finger on his lips. He closed the door behind him. `Threw a bit of a faint,' he said. `She's all right now. The beds were made up. She's gone to sleep in the top one. Been a bit much for the girl I expect, old man.'
Bond nodded briefly. He went into the compartment. A hand hung palely down from under the sable coat. Bond stood on the bottom bunk and gently tucked the hand under the corner of the coat. The hand felt very cold. The girl made no sound.
Bond stepped softly down. Better let her sleep. He went into the corridor.
Nash looked at him with empty eyes. `Well, I suppose we'd better settle in for the night. I've got my book.' He held it up. `War and Peace. Been trying to plough through it for years. You take the first sleep, old man. You look pretty flaked out yourself. I'll wake you up when I can't keep my eyes open any longer.' He gestured with his head at the door of No. 9. `Hasn't shown yet. Don't suppose he will if he's up to any monkey tricks.' He paused. `By the way, you got a gun, old man?'
`Yes. Why, haven't you?'
Nash looked apologetic. `Fraid not. Got a Luger at home, but it's too bulky for this sort of job.'
`Oh, well,' said Bond reluctantly. `You'd better take mine. Come on in.'
They went in and Bond shut the door. He took out the Beretta and handed it over. `Eight shots,' he said softly. `Semi-automatic. It's on safe.'
Nash took the gun and weighed it professionally in his hand. He clicked the safe on and off.
Bond hated someone else touching his gun. He felt naked without it. He said gruffly, `Bit on the light side, but it'll kill if you put the bullets in the right places.'
Nash nodded. He sat down near the window at the end of the bottom bunk. `I'll take this end,' he whispered. `Good field of fire.' He put his book down on his lap and settled himself.
Bond took off his coat and tie and laid them on the bunk beside him. He leant back against the pillows and propped his feet on the bag with the Spektor that stood on the floor beside his attaché case. He picked up his Ambler and found his place and tried to read. After a few pages he found that his concentration was going. He was too tired. He laid the book down on his lap and closed his eyes. Could he afford to sleep? Was there any other precaution they could take?
The wedges! Bond felt for them in the pocket of his coat. He slipped off the bunk and knelt and forced them hard under the two doors. Then he settled himself again and switched off the reading light behind his head.
The violet eye of the nightlight shone softly down.
`Thanks, old man,' said Captain Nash softly.
The train gave a moan and crashed into a tunnel.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Killing Bottle